In the cold Void, the Iron Warriors fleet had completed its final deployment.
Dozens of Warships, from massive battleships to nimble Destroyers, surrounded their target at the center of their formation like a well-trained wolf pack.
What had once been a planet now bore no trace of its former appearance.
It was completely encased in a thick Shell of pitch-black metal that writhed constantly, as though alive. Like an enormous, ominous metal tomb, it floated silently beneath the Starry Expanse, radiating a chilling sheen that made the heart tremble.
This was the enemy's central lair, the final form of that terrifying, self-evolving factory.
"The hour of final reckoning has come." Perturabo's voice came over the ship's communications system, his composure barely containing the excitement of a hunter about to finish his kill.
If he could win this battle, he would gain a decisive edge over Dorn and his Imperial Fists Legion.
"The strategy is clear: tear open that iron shell, then use Cyclonic Torpedoes of sufficient yield to reduce the Xenos Factory buried within, along with this entire Planet, to dust," Perturabo ordered.
His tactics were as direct and efficient as ever, dispensing with all unnecessary maneuvering and probing in pursuit of absolute firepower saturation and devastating strikes.
Yet at that moment, the Lord of Iron was not seated on the bridge's command throne, which offered the best view.
To witness the execution of this final Judgment as directly as possible, he had gone to a special observation chamber on the lower decks of the Iron Blood.
It was close to the Warship's Shell, protected by nothing more than glass and a small amount of armor.
Perturabo's massive frame stood before the observation window. Cold starlight and the dim glow from the distant Planet shone across his iron-gray armor. He